Scar heard the hyaenas before he saw them: the shrill hoots and shrieks, and that unmistakable chattering laugh that chilled the heart of every honest creature. When hyaenas were that happy, someone was in trouble.

The King was patrolling the borders of his country. The Pridelands were parched and barren, but beautiful in Scar's eyes because they were his. And on this evening, with a low red sun painting sky and land in crimson, umber and lion-yellow, the unchanging beauty of the landscape shone through its poor condition.

He could see the hyaenas now, skipping and bounding around some animal that lay motionless at their feet. They were his allies, but he hated them - their mean, shallow minds, their needless cruelty. How could he ever have thought they had something in common? They reminded him of the worst parts of his own nature, but what he was ashamed of and tried to keep buried, they revelled in.

"What have you there, my friends?" he asked, padding up to the group. The leader of the hyaenas stopped his capering and looked round, startled.

"Oh, hey Chief. Didn't see ya."

"I asked what you had there?" Scar grumbled threateningly.

"A lion!"
"Two lions!"
"Yeah!"

Nodding and bowing, the shaggy bunch drew back from their prey.

A lioness looked up at Scar with yellow eyes that held no hope or energy; hate was the only expression left to her. She was stick-thin and dusty, though he could still make out the darker blaze on her forehead. Under her forelegs was a half-grown cub, pressed close to his mother and terrified. She had sunk down over him in an attempt to protect him from the hyaena mob.

Scar growled. "Clear off," he said shortly. The hyaena leader put his head on one side.
"But you said to drive away any lions that entered the Pridelands!"
"You said!" echoed another, whining like a cub given an unjust smack.
"I changed my mind. It is a royal prerogative," Scar smirked. The confused hyaenas milled away, not daring to argue.

"Up," Scar commanded the lioness. She glared rebelliously at him.
"Maybe I won't. Maybe I'll just lie here and die, how about that?"

"Mother!" mewed the cub, poking her with an anxious paw.

"Oh Nuka...all right...Mother was joking." She got up and stood woodenly, head low. Though she clearly hadn't eaten or drunk for some time, she was not about to beg for favours. Nor was Scar about to offer them. They locked gazes, two proud spirits meeting.

The cub Nuka didn't share his mother's stoicism. "Please Sir - I'm hungry," he said, blinking up at Scar. He was even thinner than she was, a bag of bones with a slight pot belly that suggested worms. Poor nourishment had stunted him and left him with rickety legs, and Scar could make out parasites crawling in his fur.

The lioness hissed at her son and cuffed him smartly, sending him rolling. Scar chuckled.
"You can't feed a cub on smacks. Come with me. And tell me your name."

"I don't take orders," the lioness stated, turning her shoulder slightly away.

"So I see. But that wasn't an order, it was an offer. And I make those rarely." Scar held her gaze for a moment, then pointed his nose towards Pride Rock and began to walk.

He had not gone far when he heard light footsteps behind him. Nuka was following. Then the lioness appeared at his shoulder, walking level with the king. She opened her mouth to speak, changed her mind, then changed it again.

"I am Zira," she said.

* * * * *

Old Rafiki the mandrill saw the little procession approaching from his tree, and clutched his temples as a sudden spasm of pain shot through his head. He rocked to and fro, staggered by the strength of his premonition. They didn't look like much, this lean, bony lioness and her untidy son. But he knew as surely as if it had already happened that they meant bad trouble for Pride Rock.